Tipping Point: A Tale of the 2Nd U.S. Civil War

By Frank Clarke

When a mass-shooting prompts a call for the repeal of the 2nd amendment, a handful of states secede and provoke the Second U.S. Civil War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456721947

Frank Clarke

Frank Clarke is a retired IBM programmer and a long-term member of Mensa. He enjoys watching the ebb and flow of politics, always with an eye toward the future, which he thinks may not be as pretty as some would have you believe. 'Tipping Point' is his first published work and serves as a 'cautionary tale' for any who think the next civil war will be somehow more 'civil' than the last.

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© 2011 Frank Clarke. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 2/14/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-2192-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-2193-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-2194-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011901548

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

There will be civil war in this country before there is meaningful civilian disarmament.  Some days, talking to the anti-gun loons, I feel like I’m standing with a crowd of eight-year-olds, ankle deep in gasoline, trying to keep them from playing with matches.

— Unknown ( via Jeffrey C. Dege )

Acknowledgments

Several people have lent their expertise toward making this work as good as it is:

• Norene, my dear wife, for cheering me on and for not complaining (too much) when ‘the book’ had all my attention.

• Jeffrey Dege, for the opening quote. It’s not his original work, he admits, but he it was who first brought it to my attention, and neither of us know where it originated.

• David Clarke, for advice and assistance on ATC-related matters.

• Oleg Volk, for the illustrations including the cover art.

• Sheri Stein, my editor, for putting a lid on my enthusiasm.

• Numerous unnamed others who, having read drafts of the work, encouraged me to press onward.

I take full responsibility for whatever faults remain.

Contents

01. An Incident In Dennison, Texas

02. A Firebell In The Night

03. End Run

04. Treason! He Cried

05. Breaking News

06. Entangling Alliances

07. Oh, Canada

08. The Dogs of War

09. Insh’allah

10. Developments

11. Sabers Rattling

12. Toe To Toe

13. The Enemy Within

14. Truth or Consequences

15. The Blood of Tyrants

16. Names and Addresses

17. Round Up

18. Things Fall Apart

19. Free At Last

20. Weighty Matters

21. Economics 101

22. Unconventional Warfare

23. A House Divided

24. Hail To The Chief

25. Dust Settling

26. Cleaning Day

27. Dénouement

28. Epilogue

01

An Incident In Dennison, Texas

Rain pelted against the windows in the way only Texas rain can pelt. Terry Edmonds stared at it, fascinated, unable to tear his eyes away, so the eraser came as quite a surprise. It arrived in a high arching curve, hit his desk squarely, pad down in a cloud of chalk dust and bounced once, hitting him on the ear. The class erupted in gales of laughter loud enough to drown out the rain.

Ah, good, Mr. Kane remarked, you’re back with us again. I thought we had lost you for a moment there. Now that you’re back from wherever you were, would you be good enough to answer the question?

I… I… I’m sorry… Terry stammered.

You certainly are sorry, Mr. Kane interrupted him. You’re the sorriest student I’ve ever had the misfortune to try to teach. You don’t study, you don’t do your homework, you don’t pay attention in class, and your test scores show it. About the only good thing I can say is that you keep your seat nice and warm, and you don’t slow the rest of the class down with stupid questions… or any questions, really.

A scowl crossed Terry’s face. This wasn’t the first tongue-lashing he’d gotten from Mr. Kane, but it sure as hell was going to be the last. He reached down to pick up the fallen eraser.

Get out, Mr. Kane ordered. Go find a class where you can sleep all day. I don’t want you taking up space in mine. Harry Kane’s left arm extended to a finger pointing toward the classroom door.

Terry grabbed his backpack and flung it over his left shoulder, cocked his Texas Student Athletic Association award-winning pitcher’s arm and sent the eraser straight at his teacher’s forehead. The little block of felt and paper hit Harry Kane square in the center of his head with not so much force as could knock him off his feet. Surprise did that. By the time he realized what had transpired, all he could see was the door softly closing behind a departing Terry Edmonds. His class was a sea of silent, gaping mouths.

Good riddance, he opined.

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Terry had tried, he really had (he told himself). Mr. Kane just had it in for him, why he could not fathom. He was going to fail this course, that was a certainty, and failing this required subject meant he would become ineligible for the remainder of the season. Life, he thought, really sucked.

The fire doors burst outward under the impact of both of his outthrust arms, and he continued without missing a step toward the parking lot. He started his scooter and was flying toward the exit a moment later.

Wind whistled through his hair as he headed for home. Plans vaguely coalesced in his benumbed brain. The face of Mr. Kane continually popped to the front of his thoughts like a toothache. Even as he entered the house, he did not yet realize what it was he had planned. The thoughts did not really rise to the surface even as he took the plastic case from his father’s nightstand. The little brass padlock surrendered with just a single twist of a good screwdriver. The 9mm Beretta inside had three high-capacity magazines, all loaded with hollow point bullets, perfect for people. He slipped a magazine into the handle and racked a round into the chamber, pocketed the other two magazines and tucked the Beretta into his belt.

He knew that he must not use the regular entrances, all of which had metal detectors. Instead, he went in through the gymnasium and from there into the main building, up to the second floor through halls empty of activity, past class after class of serious students scribbling notes furiously. He paused only momentarily before the door of room 217, but the part of his brain that had been screaming No for the past fourteen minutes could no longer be heard above the roar that screamed Kill! His left hand twisted the doorknob and pushed. He stepped inside.

Harry Kane turned slowly, methodically, to see who dared disturb his lesson plan.

I told you not to come back, he reminded Terry.

In one smooth motion, Terry’s hand went to his belt, the fingers wrapping around the grip and pulling as his thumb flicked the safety off. As his father, Police Chief Mark Edmonds, had taught him, he aimed for the center of mass, Harry Kane’s chest, and fired. Once. Twice.

Harry Kane crumpled to the floor, blood fountaining from his chest. Girls screamed in terror. Two boys near the front of the room stood and lunged for Terry, but they never had a chance. He dropped them both before they had gotten clear of their chairs. His eyes searched the room until they were looking straight into Theresa Corman’s. She wasn’t screaming as were most of the others, and she hadn’t run for cover. Instead, she sat rigidly in her chair staring back at Terry Edmonds. Tears streamed down her face, partly tears of sadness, and partly tears of fear. Terry walked down the aisle to where Theresa sat, pointed the muzzle at her head, and squeezed off one more round. Most of the students now ran panic-stricken for the doorway. He let them go. He didn’t care about most of them. He had other fish to fry.

In room 231, most of the students were still huddled under their desks. A few had jammed their desks under the doorknob to prevent anyone entering, but the bullets that smashed the lockset off the door made their efforts wasted. He was inside room 231, and he still had most of the first magazine waiting.

Mrs. Davis waved her arms in front of her imploringly. Terry, don’t do this, she begged, but he shot her anyway, and then he shot seven more students before moving on down the hall.

As he walked, a figure emerged from the stairwell: Officer Watson, the school resource officer, and he had his service weapon at the ready. Terry took cover behind a locker and emptied the remainder of the magazine into Watson’s chest. Then he picked up the policeman’s Glock and pocketed it, continuing down the stairs to the first floor.

The school had taken on an eerie quietness, the sort of quiet you would expect on a weekend morning: no voices, no footsteps except his own, and no sounds except a faint crying sound emanating from where he could not tell.

The Principal’s office door was locked. He shot the lock off with Watson’s .40 caliber Glock and kicked the door inward. A short scream told him the people he wanted to see were still there. The Principal and her staff had moved, all of them, into a back room and locked that door as well. When Terry shot its lock off and kicked that door in, he discovered the room in total darkness. It had no windows, and the light had been deliberately broken to deny him visibility. Terry was crazy, perhaps, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t going into that room unable to see. He was here to kill, not to be killed, and he wasn’t finished. He emptied the Glock into the darkened room, aiming low to catch anything crouching under tables or behind desks. Then he emptied another 9mm magazine as well before leaving.

As he exited the front door of the Principal’s office, he could see the first police cars, lights flashing, sirens blaring, entering the parking lot. Calmly, he walked down the hall toward the auditorium and climbed the stairs into the balcony. From the rear windows of the projection booth he could see the main hallway in both directions for its full length. Perfect. He took one bullet from the last full magazine, inserted it into one of the empty magazines and slipped that into his shirt pocket.

The police who were now fanning out across his school would not, like Watson, be unprotected. These would be wearing body armor, and they would be carrying AR-15s. Terry would have to be very careful.

But maybe not too careful. From the west end of the main hallway, a lone teacher herded his clutch of eighth-graders to what he thought was safety: to the auditorium and out onto the playing fields where, if disaster struck, they could each run in different directions.

Terry leaned out the window and began firing. The bullets that did not initially find targets ricocheted off the marble floors and found a target on the way back up—at least most of them did, anyway. In an instant, the screaming children were moving in every possible direction, and Terry could no longer get a decent bead on any of them. He turned to look down the hall just in time to see a shooter go down on one knee, his AR-15 on his cheek.

Terry pulled his head in just in time to avoid a volley of bullets, switched hands, leaned back out and returned fire. The rifleman, not expecting such a quick return, had failed to take cover and paid for the error with his life as a hollow-point 9mm bullet smashed through his right eye and out the back of his skull.

Inside the projection room, Terry looked at the Beretta. Its slide was now locked back, indicating an empty magazine. He ejected that magazine and inserted the magazine he had stored in his shirt pocket. The slide slammed forward, chambering his one remaining round. He put the muzzle underneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

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Officer Matt Creal whipped around the corner of the Principal’s office, his AR-15 aimed at the darkened doorway of the storage room, ready to shoot anything that looked dangerous. Assistant Principal Anna Burrel saw his blue uniform and badge and stepped into the doorway, a big smile of relief on her face. Before she could open her mouth to tell him how happy she was to be rescued, Creal had put four bullets into her chest.

Don’t shoot! the others cried out from the darkness, We’re unarmed.

Creal turned to the wall and puked his breakfast.

Come out one at a time, his backup told them, and bloodstained bodies began appearing in the doorway. Several of them had been wounded, and one had been killed by the random shots Terry had fired into the darkened room. Each of them gingerly stepped across the supine body of Anna Burrel carefully avoiding stepping into the expanding pool of blood seeping from beneath her dress. A fellow officer helped Matt Creal out to the command post. This was not going to be an easy error to explain, and Creal wondered if his days as a law enforcement officer were over.

Ambulances lined up outside the school waiting for the all clear that would be their signal to help the wounded and bag the dead. Outside the second-floor projection room of the auditorium, four officers clustered in defensive positions while another two covered their backs. One officer rushed forward and kicked at the door’s lock mechanism. It popped, and the door swung open as he dived sideward for cover. As the door swung they could each see there was no more need for caution. Blood streamed down Terry Edmonds’ face and neck, staining his tee shirt and jeans and beginning to collect on the floor. The wall behind him was covered in blood in a spatter pattern all the officers recognized.

Shooter is down, the team leader spoke into his radio handset. The staff in the Principal’s office had already identified the shooter as Terrence Edmonds, and others had each repeated that same name and no other, so the police were fairly confident that there had been a single gunman, and that gunman was now confirmed dead.

At the command post Terry’s father, the Chief of Police, buried his face in his hands and wept. As he tried to understand what had just happened, a black limousine with a police escort turned into the school’s parking lot. Deputy Chief Strauss moved to head off the Mayor before he could begin harassing the Chief. The two moved to the side to talk quietly and privately, and Strauss filled the Mayor in on the details.

That’s fine, the Mayor assured him, I see you have the situation under control. I’m more interested now in my daughter. I’ve got to go find her.

I can’t let you go in there, Mr. Mayor, Strauss insisted. We think there was only one shooter, but we can’t be sure until our teams have gone through the school and made sure it’s secure. You may be my boss, but I would be derelict in my duty to the city if I allowed you inside a potentially dangerous crime scene. I’ll check with the office and try to locate her for you. Just wait here. Strauss called a subordinate over and gave him the assignment to find the Mayor’s daughter.

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Inside room 217 the paramedics found Harry Kane lying on his back in a pool of blood. They didn’t even need to check for a pulse. That kind of blood-loss is incompatible with life. Nearby were two boys in contorted positions. Each had been shot once in the chest, and both were dead. The only other casualty in the room was a female still sitting in her chair with her head lolled back and her face covered in blood. The back of her skull was missing.

Is this who I think it is? one asked the other.

God, I hope not. They found her purse in the cubbyhole beneath the seat, opened her wallet and flipped through her ID.

Somebody’s got to tell the Mayor.

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Once again our nation mourns, the President intoned. "Once again we hear the wailing of parents, friends, and relatives asking ‘Why?’, and once again we have no answer for them. Tell me what I should say to them, he demanded of the Joint Session of the Congress of the United States. Tell me what I should say so that this President can finally give them an answer, however frail or overdue."

It was a rhetorical question. He didn’t expect and didn’t want an answer. The glare of the lights required by the television cameras were drawing noticeable beads of perspiration on his brow. Rather than make him look nervous, they added a luster of sorts to his normally sallow complexion.

"I’ll tell you what answer we should give them… what answer we must give them: we must tell them that this will never be permitted to happen again. We must tell them that their sons and their daughters are the last—they are the last to die needlessly at the hands of a madman with a gun. We must tell them that this administration, this President and this Congress are going to put an end to the insanity that has gripped our nation for so long.

I ask you tonight… no, I demand of you tonight that you begin immediately to craft effective legislation at the Federal level that will eliminate firearms as a method of mass murder. I tell you tonight that we now have hard evidence that the Second Amendment has not simply outlived its usefulness, but has become a positive danger to the peace and security of our nation, and it must go. He looked at the Press Corps. It must go. He looked at the Senators. It must go. He looked at the Representatives. It must go. Tonight you must fulfill your duty to your nation and its citizens by beginning to dismantle the archaeological remnants of our nation’s violent past so that our people can march confidently into the bright future which is the birthright of all men of good will. Thank you.

The hall erupted in thunderous applause as senators and representatives alike rose from their seats in a standing ovation. The President turned to shake the hands of the Speaker and his Vice President while applause continued around him.

In the remote TV studios, the talking heads began their analysis of the President’s remarks:

"For the first time in America’s history, a President has seriously suggested altering the Bill of Rights, and it is not surprising, in the wake of this week’s multiple shooting at the quiet, rural, upscale Hallance Consolidated School in Dennison, Texas, that the subject of that alteration is the Second Amendment, the right to keep and bear arms. The Second Amendment has been the topic of bitter debates for over fifty years beginning with the assassination in the early 60s of President Kennedy. An ever-tightening noose of legislation has been drawn around it since then in a seemingly vain effort to bring gun violence under control, but each year seems to bring another in a long series of senseless tragedies and grisly murders, often bearing the tell-tale marks of class warfare with society’s outcasts usually the perpetrators.

"This time, however, it was not one of society’s outcasts, but the teenage son of Dennison’s Chief of Police who, after shooting two of his teachers, many of his fellow students, and several administrators, according to eyewitnesses, calmly, coldly, and calculatingly assassinated the mayor’s daughter, one of his own classmates, before turning the gun on himself in a final gruesome act of self-immolation.

"Oddly, sentiment in Dennison, Texas is not that society has a problem, but that one boy, ignored long enough, can bring tragedy to an entire town. Nevertheless, throughout the nation the call for action to prevent a recurrence has been loud, widespread, and sustained, and tonight, the President seems to be reacting to that call. Whether Congress will heed it as well remains to be seen. There is, in opposition, a deep-rooted sentiment that the Bill of Rights must not be tampered with, especially as a reaction to what many see as a local and not very prevalent aberration.

"Many Senators, representing the bulk of the Northeastern states, have already expressed their opinion that, as the President said tonight, the Second Amendment has outlived its usefulness.

Congressional leaders have promised the President’s remarks will top tomorrow’s agenda in both houses.

02

A Firebell In The Night

The speaker’s gavel banged continually until the hall became quiet.

The chair recognizes the Honorable Gentleman from New York.

All eyes turned toward the New York delegation as a lone figure rose. Adjusting his glasses, he picked a sheet of paper from the desk in front of him and began to read.

"The people of the State of New York have long been intolerant of firearms, having some of the strictest licensing provisions in all of the United States. It is our opinion, speaking for my constituents, that had the other states enacted regulations as strict, we would not now be discussing the repeal of the Second Amendment. And if there were some possibility that all of our sister states might exercise the same level of caution, I would have no qualms, not one, about keeping the right to keep and bear arms.

"That, however, is not the case. Time has shown us that as long as the Constitution allows it, someone somewhere in some state whose lax firearms laws make it possible will arm the criminal element, and these criminals will take their guns into all the other states. No, it is time to solve this problem once and for all. This is the place to solve the problem. Today is the day we say to the merchants of death: ‘No more! Leave our children in peace!’

The State of New York wishes to go on record as the first to call for the repeal of the Second Amendment.

A smattering of applause rippled through the chamber. The Speaker’s gavel rapped a few more times until quiet returned.

Would the Honorable Gentleman from New York care to cast that as a formal motion? the Speaker prompted.

The State of New York moves the repeal of the Second Amendment.

Is there a ‘second’? the Speaker asked.

The State of New Jersey seconds the motion.

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The representative from Texas rose to address the House.

Texans know that one of the worst things that can happen to a cowpoke on the trail is a stampede, Clay Turner cautioned them. "Them critters get a crazy notion in their head and take off a-runnin’, and anything that gets in their way, they just trample, and by the time the cowboys get the herd stopped and under control, they’ve done a lot of damage and gone a long way off their path.

Well, it looks like the worst thing that can happen to a Congress also happens to be a stampede. Congresscritters from upscale, affluent, gated communities where crime is just a five-letter word, get some crazy notion in their heads— The speaker’s gavel rapped once. The representative from Texas turned to look at her.

The gentleman from Texas is reminded of the rules of decorum in this chamber, she chided him.

It’s important, Turner continued, "that we not trample stuff we want to keep in our rush to appear to be doing something. It’s worth noting that the good people of Texas, for the most part, do not consider guns to be a problem, the actions of one or two disturbed teenagers notwithstanding. You do not honor them by your actions here today.

To the honorable gentleman from New York, I wish to point out that all the restrictions on gun-ownership in the world would not have had the slightest impact on the events of November 12th. The gun that was used to slay students and teachers that day was a police officer’s firearm, and no one—not a single person here in this room—is ready to suggest we disarm our police, because you all want to be re-elected. The speaker’s gavel rapped again. Clay Turner looked up at the speaker’s chair.

I’m finished, Madam Speaker, he told her.

Indeed you are, Congressman, she replied, glaring at him.

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Percy Edmonds (R-VT) approached the lectern and adjusted his glasses.

"In the mid-nineties, we Republicans came into possession of both houses of Congress because of something called ‘The Contract With America’. I stand here this afternoon to tell you that there is, and always has been, since the inception of this country, a ‘Contract With America’. That contract is called ‘The Bill of Rights’. There would not have been a Constitution—not enough states would have ratified it—had there not also been a Bill of Rights. Those ten articles are the price the rest of the nation paid to induce enough states to join in this compact, to induce them to create The United States of America.

"Now, some here are suggesting that we should abrogate that agreement. ‘It’s out-of-date’, they say. ‘It’s too dangerous’, they say. Hear, now, what Vermont has to say: if you touch the Bill of Rights, you break the compact. Those of you who are willing to live under a foreshortened guarantee of freedom may go your own way. Those of us who will not will go our own way.

You may call that ‘secession’ if you wish. We Vermonters see it this way: you will have thrown us out of your so-called ‘union’. Vermont will have no part in this.

He gathered his notes and returned to his seat. There was not a single sound in the chamber. Everyone understood that they were watching the dissolution of the United States of America.

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The representative from Wyoming rose when his turn came.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal and that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

"Honorable Brethren, do we not all recognize these fundamental rights our founding fathers called ‘unalienable’? ‘Endowed by their creator with the right to life.’ Is there anyone here who disputes that? Let him rise to defend the assertion that the right does not exist.

"And if we have the right to life, do we not also have the right to defend that life, and is that right to self-defense not equally unalienable? If there be anyone here who disputes that, let him rise to defend the assertion that the right does not exist.

"And if we have the right to self-defense and are denied the means to implement that right, of what use is the right to self-defense or that which it supports, the right to life?

"Take away the means of defending one’s life and you deny the fundamental right to life itself. And make no mistake, that is exactly what is being proposed… what has been proposed here. Some will say that there are other ways to defend a life, but for the mass of our citizens who do not have the luxury of training for months or years in the martial arts and who, even then, would be disadvantaged when faced with an armed criminal, the matter before this body would truly strip them of the most fundamental mark of the free man.

Wyoming will not be a party to this. If the second amendment or any part of the Bill of Rights is repealed, Wyoming will leave the Union. Don’t dare call it ‘secession’. We will have been ejected from your Union.

03

End Run

For the past forty minutes, cars had been arriving at the home of Senator Kingsley (D-WY), and their occupants, in ones and twos, had entered the house. In an ordinary neighborhood one might have thought the Kingsleys were hosting a party, but on Bureaucrats Row, as the few non-government residents called it, it was just as easily a cabal. And this was no party. The serious looks on the faces of the attendees was enough to confirm that.

I suppose it’s no secret why we’re all here, Senator Kingsley began when they had all assembled, "but let’s state it for the record.

"We, all of us, Republicans, Democrats, and Independents alike, represent the states that are opposed to repeal of the second amendment. I have spoken to each of you individually over the past four days, and each of you has expressed your devotion to the second amendment in terms which make me confident that we are of one mind on this issue, if no others. We are, because of that, a de facto caucus on that issue, and I propose that we formalize that relationship, offering each other our hands in a gentleman’s agreement to work together, to keep faith with each other in the battle that surely lies ahead, for only by each of us keeping careful watch and making sure the others have the benefit of our eyes and ears will we have any hope of saving the people’s right to keep and bear arms."

He extended his hand to the Republican Senator from Texas amid a chorus of Hear! Hear! and they shook hands. This was repeated all around the room until everyone, it seemed, had had the opportunity of meeting, some for the first time, colleagues from across the aisle. When the hubbub had mostly died down, Senator Mortimer (D-SC) took Kingsley aside to whisper into his ear.

Harry, he told Senator Kingsley in a confidential tone, I don’t know that I’m going to be much help. My mail on this topic is running six-to-one against. My partner, even though he’s a Republican, is probably getting the same barrage of mail from the ‘Brady’ folks. I don’t think you should count on South Carolina’s support although you know you’ll always have mine.

Well, Nelson, that’s pretty bad news for us, as you probably know. That brings us down to thirty-three Senators opposed and gives the repealers the sixty-seven percent they need to make this a done deal. I don’t suppose you’re willing to stop a bullet for us on this one, are you?

Nelson Mortimer shook his head. I don’t see what good it would do. The other South Carolina vote is probably committed to repeal, and that’s sixty-seven percent right there. My one vote won’t buy you anything, and it will surely cost me my seat at election-time.

That’s that, then. We better tell the others. He turned to the crowd and raised his voice to be heard over the din of conversation. Gentlemen… gentlemen… may I have your attention. I have an announcement to make. The room quieted noticeably. I have some bad news. Our good friend, Senator Mortimer, has just told me that he is unable to publicly support our effort to fend off repeal. For those of you who are keeping count, that leaves just thirty-three Senators in our camp and that spells very bad news: we now have insufficient votes in the Senate to prevent a repeal resolution. I’m afraid our efforts here tonight are for naught.

The senior senator from Colorado spoke first: Gentlemen, we may still have cards to play, and I think we should not so easily surrender this historic bi-partisan effort. I do suggest, however, that if the Senator from South Carolina believes himself compromised, we should release him with our thanks and continue our counsel without him.

Senator Mortimer shook hands again with Kingsley and then with the senators from Texas and finally with the Colorado delegation before moving to the door, out, and homeward.

Inside the Kingsley house, discussion continued.

Vermont’s not here. Why isn’t Vermont here? They were always pro-second-amendment. Can we count on them?

Yes, we can probably count on them regardless, but that still leaves us one vote short. We might accidentally pick up another vote, but all we need is a little more pressure from the anti-gun lobby (and you can be sure we’re going to get it) and we’re sunk. We need some ideas to give us more than just another state or two.

The junior senator from Montana had been jotting notes on a piece of paper and chimed in. I think I can give us four more.

Four more? How?

I just remembered something someone had told me about Texas many years ago. The senators from Texas turned so as to be able to hear every word.

The annexation agreement between the Republic of Texas and the United States of America allows Texas to unilaterally split itself into five districts, each of which must be admitted to the Union as states. If Texas is so inclined, it can create four more states and cause this vote to be made on the basis of fifty-four states rather than fifty. Two-thirds of fifty-four is thirty-six and the repealers will be two to three states short. Of course that only means that a repeal resolution won’t happen in Congress. The states may still call a convention and take it out of our hands.

Kingsley turned to the senior Senator from Texas, Roberto Martinez, with a quizzical look. Is that true, Roberto?

Technically, yes, Martinez responded. "I raised the issue with my counterparts earlier in the week, but they aren’t as confident as our young colleague from Montana. The crux of the matter is a small difference of opinion called ‘the American Civil War’. Texas, you may recall, was on the losing side in that conflict, the result of which was that all the states became vassals of the federal government. There is some sentiment—not in Texas, of course—that the American